Tigers Come at Night
by rebecca-in-blue
Summary: "One night, she awoke and asked him what he was doing, but he couldn't tell her the truth." Valjean needs something from Cosette that she doesn't understand.


This story is my usual fare, a fluffy, angsty Valjean/Cosette one-shot, perhaps a bit darker than most. I hate that you can't really tell, but my image for this story is of Valjean handing the letter to Cosette as he's dying, from the 2012 movie.

For my own reference: 91st fanfiction, 19th story for _Les Miserables_.

* * *

Valjean crossed the room slowly, so that the floorboards wouldn't creak under his feet. It was very late — two or three in the morning, he guessed, as he stooped over the little bed in the corner where Cosette lay. He turned her blankets down as stealthily as he could, and he was caught off-guard when she stirred and woke up anyway.

"Papa?" she asked drowsily, blinking up at him.

Valjean's mouth suddenly went dry. He had not expected Cosette to wake up, and he could not possibly tell her what he was really doing. For a moment, he could only stare at her, and then, he blurted out the first lie that popped into his head.

"It's all right, Cosette," he said, scooping her up into his arms. "You were just having a bad dream, poor thing. Papa's going to hold you until you fall asleep again, all right?"

Cosette looked confused by this, but she was still only half-awake and said nothing. She simply snuggled in against Valjean's chest and in no time, she fell asleep in his arms. Valjean sighed, relieved that it had been so easy, and he paced up and down the floor holding her for a while before he put her back in bed. He was even more relieved the next morning, when Cosette didn't seem to remember it at all.

* * *

But it was not as easy when it happened again a few nights later. This time, as Valjean was lifting her out of bed, Cosette woke up more fully. "Was I having a bad dream again, Papa?" she asked him, and her meek little voice made Valjean's heart ache. But what else could he tell her?

"Yes, sweetheart," he answered gently, stroking her hair, "but it's all right now. Papa's right here. Try to go back to sleep, now."

He sat down on her bed and settled her into his lap, and she leaned against him, thinking. She could not remember her dream at all now, but if it had been a scary dream, then perhaps she shouldn't try to remember it. She snuggled close against her papa's chest and tried to sleep, but she could hear his heartbeat in her ear, and it wasn't the steady, soothing sound that it usually was. His heart was beating so loud and fast, like a drum, keeping her awake. Cosette shifted her head from his chest to his shoulder, where she could hear him breathing, and there, she was able to fall asleep again.

* * *

It happened for the third time on an especially cold night, and Valjean felt terrible for waking up Cosette and taking her out of her warm little bed. He wrapped her up tightly in the blanket and sat down with her in a chair in front of the fireplace. It hadn't happened very late tonight, so the fire hadn't died out yet.

This time, when Valjean lifted her out of bed, Cosette had tried to grab at her dream, to remember it, but it faded away from her sleepy mind like sand through her fingers. Sitting on his lap, Cosette rubbed her eyes sleepily, and they felt dry. For the first time, it occurred to her to wonder...

"Papa, how did you know I was having a bad dream? Was I crying?"

Valjean opened his mouth, closed it, then answered, "Yes, love, you were crying and tossing and turning in your sleep." But he couldn't look at her as he said it; he stared intently into the fire instead.

Cosette nodded against his chest. Her eyes and cheeks felt perfectly dry to her, but she trusted her papa with her whole heart, and if he said that she'd been crying, she believed him. Her papa must've been sleeping, and her crying had woken him up. She was quiet for a moment, and Valjean thought that she'd gone back to sleep when suddenly she said, "I'm sorry I keep waking you up, Papa."

Valjean felt even worse. He looked down at her and smiled, though his eyes were sad. "Don't you worry your sweet little head about me, Cosette. Hush now and go back to sleep, darling."

"Yes, Papa." That was her automatic, obedient reply whenever he told her to do anything, and in just a few minutes, she was fast asleep again, her head against his shoulder.

* * *

As she curled up on his lap on the fourth night that it happened, which was not long after, Cosette mused, "I wonder what my bad dreams are about. I can't remember w—"

"Shh, Cosette," Valjean interrupted quickly, and he pressed one finger over her lips. He went on firmly, "Darling, listen to me. You aren't to worry your pretty little head over this one bit. You can't help having bad dreams sometimes, and they're best forgotten. You like it when I hold you like this, don't you?"

He still had his finger over her lips, so she just nodded. She liked being in her papa's lap more than anything else in the world.

"Good girl," Valjean praised, and he kissed her forehead. "Hush now and go back to sleep, sweetheart."

She nodded and rubbed one hand across her face as she settled in against him to sleep. Her face was dry, and by now, Cosette had figured out why. It must be because her papa always wiped her face, before he woke her up from the bad dreams.

* * *

On the fifth night, Cosette was quiet. She woke up, as usual, when he was lifting her out of bed, but this time, she didn't say a word. She just tucked her head under his chin and went back to sleep in his arms. She'd gotten the impression that her papa didn't like her talking about it, and she knew that she was right when he praised her softly, "That's my good girl," when she closed her eyes and still had said nothing.

So from then on, Cosette nearly always stayed silent, and so did Valjean. Sometimes he said, "There, there, Cosette, Papa's here," as he lifted her out of bed, and sometimes she asked, "Papa, will you sing to me?" as he walked up and down the floor with her. But usually, she said nothing, but simply found a comfortable position in his arms or on his lap, and went back to sleep.

But it didn't happen many more times. One night, as Valjean laid Cosette back down in bed and kissed her, he promised to himself that this would be the last night. It was so sweet, so calming, to have her fall asleep in his arms, but he felt too guilty about waking her up, and he couldn't keep doing it forever. It would be better to break the habit now, before he was too used to it. Besides, there were happening less often now.

But still, they did happen. They were less intense, though, so the next night, instead of dragging poor Cosette out of her bed, Valjean found a candle and a few blank sheets of paper. He sat down at the table and began to write a letter to Cosette by the flickering candlelight. He doubted that he would ever actually show it to her, but perhaps it would calm him down just to write it. He looked at her sleeping soundly in her little bed, then dipped the nib of his pen in the ink-pot and began, _My darling Cosette_...

* * *

Cosette was surprised to find a second letter, folded up and tucked behind the first one, in the envelope that her papa had given her just before he died. His death had left her so devastated that she couldn't find the strength to open the envelope until several days later. Parts of the first letter had been so upsetting — her mother had been forced to work as a prostitute, after her birth father abandoned them — that Cosette couldn't finish it, and she had to ask Marius to read it to her. She could forgive her papa for keeping the truth from her for so long, now that she knew how sad and disturbing the truth was.

His second letter was older; the paper was a bit yellowed with age, and her papa had written a date at the top, a date from years ago, when she was a just a little girl. Cosette was still stunned to think that her dear papa could've ever been in a prison — for nineteen years, no less — and she didn't know if she bear any more shocks, but curious, she began to read.

 _My darling Cosette,_

 _I'm writing this very late at night, by a candle. I hope the scratching of the pen won't wake you. You're fast asleep now, and I can see you in bed from the table where I'm sitting. What a dear little girl you are. How I wish I could freeze time and keep you at this age forever._

 _I fear I'll never be able to say this, Cosette, so if I want to tell you, I must write it. I want you to know —_ _y_ _ou never had nightmares. I expected you to, when I first took you in, but you never have, not even once. You've slept through the night every night, like the perfect little angel that you are._

 _ **I**_ _was the one who had nightmares, Cosette. It was me, the whole time. I had nightmares that I was a prisoner again, in chains._

Then there was a long ink-blot on the paper, where some words had been smudged out. Cosette could tell exactly what had happened. Her papa had written more unpleasant details about his nightmares, then changed his mind and crossed them out, wanting to shield her from his pain, to bear it alone. How like him that was. The whole letter was so like him that Cosette could hear his voice in her mind, reading the words aloud. She could see, in her mind's eye, him sitting at the table in the small boarding-house room where they used to live, writing this letter by candlelight. She could even see herself in her bed in the corner, fast sleep with her doll. Cosette still had those vague, drowsy memories of her papa waking her up in the middle of the night, saying that she was having a nightmare. She remembered sitting on his lap and wondering what her nightmares had been about. No wonder she'd never been able to remember them. She read on.

 _I won't burden your pretty little head with the details, but suffice to say, they were terrible. I would wake up from them in a dreadful panic_ _—_ _sweating, my heart racing_ _—_ _and holding you was the only thing that calmed me down enough to sleep again. How sweet it was to hold you in my arms like that, even though I did hate to wake you and tell you you were the one having bad dreams. I pray you'll forgive me for lying to you, and for_ [and here there was another ink-blot, more words smudged out, more pain that her papa had wanted to protect her from] _other things._

 _I must go back to bed now, but I'll kiss you again before I do. I'm always giving you extra kisses when you're asleep. Did you know that, Cosette? Goodnight now, precious. I love you._

 _Papa_

When Cosette reached the end of the letter, she closed her eyes and pressed the paper against her chest, over her heart, for a long moment. She could picture her papa writing this so clearly... but it was impossible to picture him waking up from a nightmare, too scared and shaken to sleep again. It was impossible for her to imagine that _she_ 'd been able to calm him down without even knowing it. Her papa had always been so strong and brave, and she'd been only a timid little girl. Reading his letter, it occurred to Cosette, for really the first time in her life, that she had a strength inside her that she wasn't even aware of, and for the first time since Valjean's death, she felt a glimmer of hope that her broken heart could heal from it.

 **FIN**


End file.
